


The Last Train From Haserabad.

by steeleye



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV), The Northwest Frontier (movie)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Gen, Humour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-13
Packaged: 2020-04-23 09:22:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19148164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/steeleye/pseuds/steeleye
Summary: The Wild Colonial Slayer (Polly) gets caught up in a Native rebellion on the NW Frontier of India.“It’s easy for you to mock us. We’re used to that. Half the world mocks us...and half the world is only civilised because we have made it so.”Lady Wyndham’s thoughts on the British Empire.





	1. Chapter 1

The Last Train From Haserabad.

By Steeleye.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer or ‘North West Frontier’. I write these stories for fun not profit.

 **Crossover:** BtVS-verse with the 1959 classic film ‘North West Frontier’, which I believe was called something else in the US.

 **Spelling and Grammar:** Written in glorious UK-English which is different to US-English

 **Timeline:** 1908 Buffyverse. A sequel to ‘The Wild Colonial slayer’, you may like to read that fic first, its only one chapter, before you start on this story.

 **Words:** Five Chapters of circa 3000 words.

 **Warnings:** Be careful what you wish for, you might get it..

 **Summary:** The Wild Colonial Slayer (Polly) gets caught up in a Native rebellion on the NW Frontier of India.

“It’s easy for you to mock us. We’re used to that. Half the world mocks us...and half the world is only civilised because we have made it so.”   
Lady Wyndham’s thoughts on the British Empire.

0=0=0=0

**Haserabad, North West Frontier Province, British India 1908.**

“Mrs Carter-Browne,” called the male and very English voice from behind her.

Standing on one of the balconies of the Governor’s Residence, Polly looked out over the refugee crowded town of Haserabad. The streets were thronged with panicking people who, having just escaped the fighting outside, found themselves packed between the white and brown flat roofed houses of the old Indian city. Polly was relieved to see troops and police had began to work their way through the crowds and start to restore order.

Letting her eyes stray from the town to the surrounding country; she immediately started to feel homesick for her native Australia. Haserabad was built on a small undulating plain surrounded by hills and mountains. The scenery was a uniform sun bleached khaki colour, the monotony of which was only broken by sage coloured scrub bushes that dotted the plain and surrounding hillsides. Above it all was a sun that beat down from a clear blue sky and baked the countryside, rebels, soldiers and civilians without mercy.

The local Moslem Princes who had until recently fought against each other had now banded together to oust the ruling Hindu Prince. The Rajah fearing for the life of his six year old son, Prince Kishan, had asked the British authorities for their help. The provincial Governor, Sir John Wyndham, had dispatched a small force of Sepoys under a British officer to snatch the prince from under the noises of the rebels. In this they had been successful and had brought the young Prince back to the supposed safety of Haserabad. Unfortunately the town was now under siege by those self same rebel Princes determined to massacre the mostly Hindu population and kill the child Prince. Obviously anyone with a white skin could expect little mercy from the rebels.

“Mrs Carter-Browne!” came the voice again, this time she felt a hand take her by the elbow and try to lead her away from her exposed position.

Polly realised that the man was talking to her; being only six weeks married it still felt odd to be called ‘Mrs Carter-Browne’. Turning she saw a young British army officer, one of the Governor’s aides, standing next to her with a concerned expression on his face.

“Mrs Carter-Browne,” repeated the officer for a third time, “please come in…it wouldn’t do for you to be hit by a stray bullet.”

Hearing the pop-popping of rifle fire from the troops on the walls as they repulsed yet another rush made on the town by the rebels. At least she hoped they were being repulsed, Polly smiled at the young man.

“No worries mate!” she replied, “I’ll be right.”

The officer did a quick double take at this obviously well-to-do young woman before trying to lead her away from the balcony and back into the safety of the Residence proper. He might as well have been trying to move an elephant. After all he was just a young Staff Officer; she was Polly the Vampire Slayer.

0=0=0=0

Polly Doolan, as she was then called, had become ‘The Slayer’ when she was almost seventeen, quite an old age for a slayer to be ‘called’. Within a few weeks her Watcher, Henry Carter-Browne, gentleman adventurer and member of the Council of Watchers had turned up at her family’s Sheep Station and explained about what Polly being the Slayer entailed.

After a tearful farewell from her family Henry and Polly had embarked on many adventures tracking down and destroying demons and vampires in Australia’s towns and cities. However, it was on a trip into the Outback that the second great change in Polly’s life occurred. After a fruitless search for the fabled Bunyip, the two adventurers had been set upon by three Vampire Bushrangers.

In the ensuing fight both Polly and Henry had been shot, but not before Polly had ‘dusted’ two of the Vampires. Henry had been saved from an untimely death by his silver cigarette case, Polly, unfortunately, had been mortally wounded and had in fact died. In his rage at having his two companions killed, the surviving Vampire had kicked Polly in the ribs and inadvertently started her breathing again. Henry had only discovered this after he had dispatched this last Vampire. 

Over the next two or three weeks Henry had tenderly nursed Polly back to health. He had telegraphed the Council only to find that they already knew of Polly’s ‘death’ and that his services as a Watcher were no longer required; and would he please send a full account of the deceased Slayer’s activities at his earliest convenience.

Henry had written an exciting and _mostly_ truthful account of Polly’s last days and dispatched it to London on a slow steamer, while he and Polly took ship for a tour of Japan and the Far East. Although Polly was no longer ‘the’ slayer she was still ‘a’ slayer and was still drawn to evil and had evil drawn to her. This was why they had ended up in Haserabad. There was a great dark presence hanging over the ancient city and Henry was of the opinion that it was this ‘presence’ that was behind the present unrest.

The young officer gave up trying to move Polly by main force and like any good product of the Sandhurst Military Academy he changed tactics. Obviously Australian women were stronger than they looked.

“Please Ma’am,” he pleaded, “your husband will skin me alive if I don’t get you inside.”

Listening while a shell from a field gun whistled over the walls and landed in the market square below, Polly then heard the answering fire from the garrison’s ‘Screw Guns’. After a moment’s thought she believed the young officer (who was actually older than she was) might have a point. She might be a slayer and possessed of superhuman abilities, but it didn’t make her proof against artillery fire. Turning from the balcony she headed towards the interior of the Residency. The young Staff Officer followed with an audible sigh of relief. 

“Where is my husband, by the way?” asked Polly using her ‘ladylike’ voice, her earlier slip into the Australian vernacular would have made Henry wince.

Henry had been trying to turn Polly into something approaching a ‘Lady’ since before she had stopped being ‘the’ slayer. He had not really had much luck; this was due to Polly’s natural stubborn streak and Henry not fully having his heart in the task, he loved her as she was. But, she tried to speak properly when they had ‘company’ or when they were in the presence of the rich and powerful, so as not to show up poor Henry.

“I believe he’s with Sir John in the Governor’s office.”

“Which is which way?” Polly asked, the officer pointed.

Polly started to head towards the Governor’s Office.

“I say!” cried the aide as he started after her again, “you can’t…”

Polly pretended not to hear, she was already out of normal human earshot.

0=0=0=0

Walking quickly, Polly made her way down the wide staircase into the main reception area. The splendour of the room was at odds with the bustle of activity taking place there. Messengers in khaki uniforms rushed here and there, she looked into one of the function rooms to see a ‘Dressing Station’ had been set up there. Wounded Sepoys were being carried in on stretchers and treated by an army doctor and his staff. Polly caught a glimpse of Lady Wyndham (the Governor’s wife) as she rushed about organising the Residency servants and helped to care for the wounded. Turning away from the scene, Polly walked towards the Governor’s office; she opened the door and burst in.

“Penelope!” cried Henry in surprise.

“Mrs Carter-Browne,” added the Governor, he looked slightly bemused by Polly’s sudden appearance.

Walking over to her husband Polly took his arm as she looked up into his face and frowned. He had taken to calling her Penelope (which was not her name; she had been born ‘Polly’) since they had started to move in more refined circles. Henry looked down at his wife and smiled a croaked smile at her ‘annoyed look’. 

Henry Carter-Browne was a couple of inches over six feet tall and not to put too fine a point on it, thin. He also suffered from the sun as his fair hair and complexion would attest. He had a long, almost horse like, face with piercing ice blue eyes that seemed to be able to see into your very soul.

His wife, on the other hand, was just a little over five feet tall, auburn haired, with a darker complexion than her husband thanks to some Spanish blood somewhere in her Irish ancestry. Her face was heart shaped with big brown eyes. She also possessed what was called, in polite circles, a ‘well rounded’ figure; Polly just said she had big ‘tits’ and joked about not having seen her feet since she was twelve. But not while she was in polite company…well only the once and that was because she was not used to drinking wine.

“It seems my dear,” said Henry deliberately not calling her ‘Penelope’, “that the Governor insists that we leave the city.”

“NO FEE-AH!” shrieked Polly in surprise before she remembered he was supposed to be trying to be refined. “But we can’t,” she continued in a slightly less raucous tone of voice, “the last train left hours ago and the town’s surrounded by rebels,” yhe looked the Governor in the eye, “I can’t believe you’d throw us out the gate to be killed by the ‘Fuzzies’! I mean what would the papers say?” she smiled at the Governor to show she didn’t really think he would throw them to the rebels.

Glancing up at her husband who’d picked up on what Polly was really worried about. So far they’d failed to find the malignant presence that had cast it’s shadow over the entire province. No doubt if it succeeded here it would cause the rebel Princes to fall out and start fighting amongst themselves, and then who knew how far the fighting would spread before this evil was finally defeated?

“I’m sorry Mrs Carter-Browne,” continued the Governor choosing to ignore Polly’s earlier outburst, “but I insist, and anyway we’ve found another train and I’m sending a small group of the most important people to safety in Kalapur you’ll be leaving at dawn tomorrow morning.”

“But we can’t!” exclaimed Polly, the Governor raised a questioning eyebrow as if to ask why not, “We’re not packed!” she explained as if that put an end to any discussion of them leaving.

Polly looked at her husband for support; he just shrugged and said nothing.

“That’s not a problem,” replied the Governor with a smile, “I’ve sent some servants to your hotel to pack your things, you’ll be spending the night here at the Residency.”

Polly looked at Henry with more than a little panic in her eyes, ‘the weapons’ they seemed to say. As any good slayer does she owned a collection of weapons that would make the average assassin jealous, and certainly not the sort of thing that a refined lady would keep in her drawers along with her under garments! Plus there were all Henry’s books and magic supplies; it didn’t matter about his weapons people expected ‘adventurers’ like Henry to be armed to the teeth.

“I’ll have one of my staff show you to your room,” continued Sir John either ignoring Polly’s look of panic or not seeing it, “then if you’d come to my office at seven o’clock this evening, Captain Scott, who’ll be leading this little expedition, will be there to explain his plan of campaign,” Sir John looked from Henry to Polly, “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a town to defend.”

Just then the ‘rat-a-tat-tat’ of a burst of Maxim fire split the late afternoon air as the rebels launched still another attack on the town.

0=0=0=0

“What are we going to do?” asked Polly after she and Henry had been shown to their room in the Residency.

Henry looked around at their luggage which lay all around them in an untidy pile.

“Blowed if I know Poll,” he sighed.

“I think we better start to pack a few things for the journey,” Henry started to sort through their things; “I don’t think we’ll be allowed to take everything,” he opened a long case and pulled out a hunting rifle, “I think a change of clothes and your favourite weapons will be enough.”

“But what about the whatever it is?” demanded Polly stuffing a clean blouse and underwear into a carpet bag, “We can’t just leave it here to cause mayhem and death.”

“With luck,” Henry fed cartridges into his rifle, “the garrison will hold out until the relief force gets here, we may only be gone a day or two, a week at most.”

“If that’s the case,” Polly paused in her packing, “what’s the point of us going in the first place?”

“The point,” Henry went over and embraced his young wife, “is that if we don’t go the Governor will be really annoyed and might even throw us in jail!”

“He wouldn’t dare,” sulked Polly resting her head on Henry’s chest.

“Yes he would!” replied Henry, “He’s the nearest thing to God in these parts, he can do very much as he wishes.”

“And what do think you’re doing?” Polly felt Henry’s hand on her breast.

“Well,” Henry bent down to kiss Polly on her lips as he slowly steered her towards the bed, “I thought we could pass the time in a more enjoyable way until we have to see this Captain Scott fellow.”

Polly felt the bed bump into the back of her legs; she gave a cry of surprise a she fell backwards onto the bed with Henry landing beside her.

“That was lucky!” Polly gasped between kisses.

“What’s that?” Henry started to unbuttoned her blouse.

“Oh! That there just happened to be a bed here to break our fall,” she giggled as she pulled at Henry’s jacket.

“Yes,” replied Henry between kissing Polly’s breasts, “it’s almost like I planned it.”

“Cad!” giggled Polly again.

0=0=0=0

Some time later Polly and Henry made it to Sir John’s office just after seven o’clock; Polly looked around at the room and wondered again how the British seemed to be able to transport a piece of England to almost anywhere in the world. To be honest it was all still a bit new to her, but Henry had assured her that this sort of thing was not unusual.

There were about a dozen people in the room. There was Sir John and Brigadier Ames, the garrison commander, the man standing next to a black board in front of a small group of civilians must be Captain Scott thought Polly. He looked competent enough and she supposed that Sir John wouldn’t have put him in charge if he didn’t think he was the man for the job. The civilians included Lady Wyndham, the Governor’s wife, plus a minor British bureaucrat Polly didn’t know. Then there was Mr. Peters, a dark haired tall man almost as tall as Henry, Polly knew he was an arms dealer who may very well have sold the weapons being used by the rebels. Lastly there was a strikingly handsome woman in her early thirties Polly guessed; she was taller than Polly, slim and with fairish hair. When she spoke she had a slight American accent, her name was Mrs Wyatt and she was governess to the young Indian Prince.

Captain Scott stood next to the blackboard exuding typical British calm and military competence. Polly had made a study of the British military during the long sea voyages she and Henry had taken. After a lot of readinf she’d come to the conclusion that the British were not a particularly warlike people. However, they were quite convinced of their own superiority, and this coupled with an ability to ‘muddle through’ made them almost unbeatable.

While she was concodering all this, Captain Scott explained his plan to get them safely in Kalapur. He’d found an old ‘tank engine’ plus a coach and a truck to carry extra coal.

“Now the rebels have taken the Railway Gate,” Scott explained in what they would soon recognise as his usual clipped manner, “which is going to make our leaving the city a little difficult.” 

Scott drew two lines across the blackboard and a representation of a railway line between them.

“As you can see I’m not much of an artist,” he joked, “what we’ll do is start out at first light and smash though the outer gate, hopefully before the rebels realise anything is happening.”

Polly winced at the ‘hopefully’, Henry didn’t seem to be in any way perturbed by this obviously suicidal plan.

“Now ‘Victoria’,” continued Scott referring to he engine, or so Polly hoped, “is a fine old engine but she’s damn noisy, so we’re going free wheel down the slight incline between the two gates. By the time we get to the outer gate we should be going fast enough to break right through.”

“Should?” said Polly out loud before she even realised she had opened her mouth.

Scott looked at her and smiled encouragingly.

“Don’t worry Mrs Carter-Browne I’m sure we’ll be alright,” he said just as another man burst into the room.

Polly’s ‘Spider Sense’ as she had called it after it had warned her of an attack by a Spider Demon back in Australia, screamed at her as the man walked into the middle of the room and looked around. Polly squeezed Henry’s hand; Henry had to stifle a cry of pain as his wife almost broke every bone in his hand.

“Mr Van Layden!” cried one of Brigadier Ames’ aides as he tried to intercept the interloper.

Van Layden walked over to the blackboard dodging the aide’s attempt to stop him, and studied the drawing for a minute. It was all Polly could do to prevent herself from jumping up and ripping the head off the ‘man’ there and then, she felt Henry rest a restraining hand on her shoulder. Van Layden was in his late thirties, he wore a rumpled light grey linen suit, a leather bound note book protruded from one pocket and a newspaper from the other. He was no more than of average height, with almost black hair under his battered Fedora. He studied the drawing with dark, piercing, intelligent eyes.

“I see,” he spoke in unaccented and well spoken English, “you’ve found another train from somewhere and you’re planning to send these good people out of the city to safety…I wonder why?” 

He turned to look at the young Indian boy who played quietly at the other end of the room.

“Ah-ha!” he exclaimed. 

At this point Polly had another almost overwhelming urge to ram a dagger into the man’s heart.

“Prince Kishan!” Van Layden exclaimed.

“Captain Scott,” ordered the Brigadier, “throw that man out!”

Scott moved to grab hold of Van Layden, but some how the newspaperman seemed to avoid the officer’s grasp.

“That would be very foolish Sir John,” said Van Layden nastily, “I wonder what would happen if all those refugees out there were to find out there was another train leaving Haserabad?”

“What do you want Van Layden?” asked Sir John after a moment’s hesitation.

“A seat on your train Sir John,” replied Van Layden greasily, “after all you’ll need someone to chronicle the exploits of your brave attempt to save the Prince.”

“Only if you wish to read lies and misinformation, Mr Van Layden,” announced Lady Wyndham haughtily from across the room.

Van Layden cast the young Prince a glance so full of venom and hatred that it laid open Van Layden’s demonic nature so plainly that Polly had to stifle a cry of alarm.

“Mrs Carter-Browne, are you feeling unwell?” asked Captain Scott.

“Strewth! Umm, yes…I’m sorry,” gasped Polly, she turned to Henry, “I think I need some fresh air.”   
“Well may I suggest that we finish now and meet at five o’clock tomorrow morning in the shunting yard?” Captain Scott was still watching Van Layden closely.

0=0=0=0

it was growing dark as Henry and Polly stood outside in the cool evening air.

“So,” began Henry kneading his hand, “I take it that’s the one we’re looking for?

“Bloody right!” exclaimed Polly belligerently, “Do you think Sir John would mind if I kill him now?”

“I don’t think he’d mind as much as have to take notice, my dear,” replied Henry trying to calm his wife.

“Strewth!” spat Polly.

“Yes I know it’s a pain,” agreed Henry as they walked through the Residency garden, “but Van Layden and that paper he writes for are a thorn in the side of the Government here, and if he was to turn up dead people might talk.”

“Yes…yes I know,” admitted Polly, “it’s just so frustrating.”

“Well at least we can catch the train tomorrow with a clear conscious,” pointed out Henry as he patted Polly’s hand where it rested in the crock of his arm. “I’m sure you’ll find an opportunity to push him under the engine or something.”

“I’m sure I will.” Polly was already planning Van Layden’s early and bloody demise. “How’s your hand?” she asked lifting Henry’s slightly crushed hand to her lips and kissing it.

“I’ll live,” replied Henry stoically, “really it was no worse than being hit by a cricket ball.”

“Nonsense!” Polly examined the injured hand, “It’s obvious you need rest. Come on,” Polly started to drag Henry back towards the Residency, “let’s get you to bed where I can make it up to you!”

0=0=0=0


	2. Chapter 2

Darkness still reigned when Henry, Polly and the rest of the mismatched civilian passengers were led from the Residency to the shunting yards behind the railway station. Wearing a light khaki coloured skirt and a white blouse, due to the extreme heat of the India day, Polly carried a few possessions in a carpet bag in her right hand while she held her husband’s arm with her left. Henry was dressed in stout boots, light grey trousers and a white open neck shirt. Around his waist he wore a belt with a holster containing a revolver. Across his chest was a leather bandolier of bullets for the rifle that hung from his left shoulder. He carried his own possessions in a small pack held in his left hand.

It was then they saw it; a little, old, battered, steam engine with an equally battered coach and flat-car. It was surrounded by forty or fifty Sepoys and a couple of British officers, one of whom Polly recognised as Captain Scott; she walked inquisitively up to the engine while the rest of the passengers were being herded aboard the coach. Polly ran her hand over the name pate on the side of the engine’s boiler; ‘Empress of India’ it proclaimed in four inch high brass lettering. Turning slightly she looked up into the cab where the Native driver worked and strolled over to peep inside.

“Hey black fella!” she called, “you the driver of this bloody scrap heap?”

The driver turned to stare down at Polly with a hurt expression on his face.

“Memsahib,” replied the driver, “Victoria is very old engine,” he caressed the controls lovingly with a rag filled hand, “but she is hard worker, she will get us to Kalapur most definitely!”

Polly considered the driver’s words.

“Well if you’re sure.” Polly didn’t feel totally convinced, she turned to make her way towards the coach and almost bumped into Captain Scott.

“Everything alright Mrs Carter-Browne?” he enquired quietly.

“Yes thank-you Captain,” replied Polly cheerfully, “I was just asking the black fella if this thing would actually get us to Kalapur.”

“Rest assured Ma’am,” Scott smiled indulgently, “I’m confident we’ll complete our journey in about a day.”

“Well, Captain, if you’re happy,” Polly pushed a lock of hair back into place, “I’m sure we have nothing to worry about.” Except for the demon sharing the coach with us, she added to herself before making her way to the coach.

“Oh! Mrs Carter-Browne,” Scott called softly after her, Polly looked over her shoulder, “the driver’s name is ‘Gupta’ not ‘Black Fella’.”

“Thank-you Captain,” Polly smiled, “I’ll remember that.”

0=0=0=0

As Polly climbed up into the coach she noted with approval the two Maxim Guns, one placed on the platform at the rear of the coach, the other situated on the flat-car between the coach and the engine. What did not met with her approval was that she could only see a couple Sepoys actually on the train.

“There’s only two Sepoys!” she whispered to her husband in alarm.

“I expect it’s something to do with weight and how much coal we can carry and what the engine can pull,” Henry breezed with all the confidence he could muster; Polly gave him a sour look.

Once everyone was aboard Captain Scott entered the coach and told them to lie on the floor, close the blinds and keep the lanterns unlit until he came in to tell them that all was clear.

“I expect we’ll know if things haven’t worked out,” Henry whispered to Polly, “’Cause there’ll be Fuzzies crawling in through the windows and hacking us to little bits!”

“They can try!” Polly smiled at her husband in the darkness under the seats.

“O-yes,” recalled Henry dryly, “I should have remembered! Next time there’s a rebel army that needs defeating I’ll just point you in the right direction and sit back and watch!”

“Too bloody right!” confirmed Polly belligerently.

Just then they heard orders being shouted in army Hindi. The wheels squeaked as the train started to move, pushed by the Sepoys they’d seen around the train earlier. Slowly the train picked up speed as it passed over points and headed towards the inner gate. They must have passed through the inner gate as Polly could no longer hear the sound of army boots on the gavel of the shunting yard; she felt the gradient take the train and the coach start to sway from side to side as they headed towards the outer gate and the rebel army.

Polly watched Van Layden as he lay under a seat across the aisle from her, he didn’t seem to notice her scrutiny. As the train moved faster and faster towards its intended target she saw Van Layden close his eyes for a moment and mutter some words under his breath, almost as if he was praying. Seconds later the train’s whistle sounded, shattering the early morning silence and alerting the rebels to their presence. For a second or two she could hear rebels shouting in panic as they saw the train for the first time. Then any cries were drowned out as the driver opened the throttle and started the engine towards the gates under power. Moments later there was a terrific crash as the heavy wooden ram fitted to the front of the engine hit the outer gate. 

The train seemed to stagger and slow for an instant and Polly thought that she’d have to fight the rebel army after all. Making a promise to herself that the first to die would be Van Layden. However, the train soon picked up speed again and started to pull away from the city walls. Bullets whip-cracked through the wooden walls of the coach as the rebels reacted to the attempted breakout. Polly’s ears picked out the sound of approaching horse’s hooves only to be nearly deafened by the Maxim on the rear platform opening fire at their pursuers, she turned to her husband and shook his arm to get his attention.

“I can’t take this!” she shouted over the noise of the Maxim, “I can’t just lie here and do nothing, it’s against my nature.”

Jumping up from the floor, Polly grabbed her bag from the rack above the seats. Pulling it down she wrenched it open and pulled out her own gun belt. Turning she made her way towards the rear of the train only to find Henry, rifle in hand already going in that direction. The Maxim fell silent and the sound of the rebel cavalry got louder as they closed in on the train. Husband and wife burst into the small service compartment at the rear of the coach only to see the Sepoy manning the Maxim struggling to clear a stoppage. Henry took up position on one side of the doorway leading to the platform while Polly took up position on the other; they started to fire steadily into the mass of rebel horsemen.

Slowly the train started to outpace the pursuing cavalry until they vanished into the dust of their own passing. Polly grinned teasingly at Henry and leant across the doorway to kiss him heedless of the Sepoy who had by now cleared the stoppage on his machine gun. Their spontaneous kiss was rudely interrupted by Captain Scott bursting in upon the scene.

“I thought I told you to stay in the coach!” he called sharply.

“Sorry Captain,” Henry’s voice lacked any real repentance, “just couldn’t lie there and not do anything, wouldn’t be quite right don’t-cha-know?”

“That’s alright for you Carter-Browne,” continued Scott only slightly placated, “but what about your wife?” he gestured towards Polly, “This is no place for a woman!”

“Don’t worry about me, mate,” Polly broke open her revolver and let the empty cases tinkle onto the floor. “Me an’ Henry look after each other.”

Flustered Captain Scott turned to go.

“Well,” he said, “be careful in future.”

He walked back into the main body of the coach and slammed the door behind him.

0=0=0=0

Sitting facing each other the couple cleaned their weapons, Polly had decided, with only slight objections from her husband, that she would be wearing her pistol openly on this trip. She could put up with the odd looks that the other passengers gave her if it meant that she would be able to dispatch Van Layden to his just deserts all the quicker. Polly had heard her husband explain to Lady Wyndham that she took the writings of Colonel Baden-Powell and his motto ‘Be Prepared’ very seriously.

“That Van Layden fella,” muttered Polly under her breath as she looked down the barrel of her revolver to check it for cleanliness, “I saw him do something before the train whistle went off.”

“Like?” Henry asked.

“Just before the whistle blew he closed his eyes and said something…”

“Like he was praying you mean?”

“What?” cried Polly out loud, then more quietly, “I thought you’d agreed that he was the demon.”

“Oh yes,” Henry agreed, “but it pays to be careful. He’s such an obvious target, what if it’s Lady Wyndham who’s the real demon?”

“But!”

At that moment Peters, the arms dealer and one of their fellow passengers, looked out the window.

“Damn!” he exclaimed, “we’re slowing down again…seems like we slow down or stop every few miles or so. We’ll never get to Kalapur at this rate.

Moments later Captain Scott hurried into the coach.

“It’s the refugee train on the track ahead of us,” he announced, “blinds down and keep your heads down,” Scott ordered before disappearing as swiftly as he had arrived. 

Within a few minutes the train had ground to a halt.

0=0=0=0

Captain Scott didn’t like what he was seeing as Gupta moved Victoria slowly towards the refugee train; it should have reached safety hours ago. As they got closer Scott could see why the train had stopped. First he saw the great bloated vultures flap lazily into the air, and then he started to pick out the bodies through the heat haze. He signalled Gupta to stop the engine and called the Sepoys forward. Jumping down from the footplate he led the Sepoys towards the staled train at an easy run. Pistol in hand, he led them towards the station where the train was halted. The three soldiers stopped next to a stone block upon which the station’s name was proclaimed in English and Hindi, Bhivandi Pura it announced mutely. Slowly, Scott stood up and walked towards the refugee train, there were bodies everywhere. Some lay on the ground around the train having been caught trying to make their escape Most were still on the train they’d never even had the chance to make an attempt at running. 

The coaches and bodies were riddled with bullet holes. There was dried blood splattered up the walls and across the floors and ceilings. No one had been spared not man or woman, old or young, white or brown. Those who had not been shot had been hacked to pieces with swords. The air was thick with the stench of death and the buzzing of millions of flies that fed off the corpses and laid their eggs in open wounds, eyes and mouths. Scott walked slowly along the train looking into the carriages in the vain hope of finding survivors. The two Sepoys were on the other side of the train removing bodies from the spur line to allow Victoria to pass by. Captain Scott had reached the engine when he noticed something move out of the corner of his eye. He spun around and nearly put a bullet through Van Layden’s chest.

“So this is the legacy of British rule in India?” he wiped sweat from his face with a grubby screwed up handkerchief.

“Van Layden!” exclaimed Scott, “I thought I told you to stay on the train with the others.”

“Divide and rule,” muttered the newspaperman, “that has always been the British way. Set Hindu against Moslem.” 

“Oh for God’s sake Van Layden,” cried a frustrated Captain Scott, “Hindus and Moslems have been slaughtering each other for hundreds of years before the British came to India. At least we’ve installed some order here.”

Van Layden turned away from Scott and started to walk back towards the train, “You call this order?” he called over his shoulder as he walked away from the scene.

“Damn him,” muttered Scott as he watched the vile little man saunter off, “and how did he get so close to me before I noticed the bounder?”

0=0=0=0

Picking her way carefully between the bodies, Polly thought she was used to the sights of death. In her short life she had seen enough of it, but nothing like this, nothing on this scale. What made it worse for her was the knowledge that it had been done by humans. True they were little better than savages, but they were still human. Waving away the flies that blundered at her face as she walked up behind Scott.

“You alright Captain?” she asked.

“Bloody hell!” Scott turned on Polly crossly, “Can’t anybody obey a simple order like ‘stay on the train’?”

“Sorry,” replied Polly sheepishly, “but you seemed to be gone a long time and Mrs Wyatt wanted to see what was going on, so Henry an’ me said we’d go with her.”

“What? You mean there’s more of you wandering about?” Scott looked up to heaven for help, finally he said, “Please go back to the train Mrs Carter-Browne, I’ll find your husband and Mrs Wyatt.”

After turning Polly retraced her steps back to Victoria doing her best not to step in any of the puddles of congealed blood that stained the dusty ground.

“I’m glad to see it disgusts you as much as it does me.”

Turning quickly, Polly brought her revolver up to point its barrel between Van Layden’s eyes, she thumbed back the hammer.

“Did I startle you Ms Carter-Browne?” Van Layden arched a quizzical eyebrow.

“Where the bloody hell did you spring from Van Layden?” demanded Polly, her pistol still pointing, rock steady, at the newspaperman’s head.

“I’ve been here all the time,” he claimed, “typical of the British to react so violently to a simple statement.”

“I’m Australian,” corrected Polly coldly.

“Same thing,” shrugged Van Layden, Polly nearly shot him there and then.

Van Layden moved to walk away from this pistol packing colonial harridan. 

“I know what you are Van Layden,” called Polly to Van Layden’s retreating back, “an’ I’m keeping an eye on you.”

“And what am I Mrs Carter-Browne?” Van Layden turned towards her and held his arms out by his sides.

“Evil,” hissed Polly.

Would anybody worry if she just shot him now? Polly asked herself, what was one more body amongst so many? She could shot him down like the dog he was and then claim he had surprised her and she had shot him thinking he as a rebel, would anyone care? But what if Henry was right, what if he wasn’t the demon. 

Just because her spider sense had become active when he had come into the room was not conclusive proof that he was a demon. The demon could have been anyone in the room. Henry had spoken of spells that could mask a creature’s true nature; that could be the case here. Reluctantly Polly eased the hammer down on her revolver and slid it back into her holster. Time would tell, she told herself as she walked briskly back to the train.

0=0=0=0

When Polly returned to Victoria she discovered that Mrs Wyatt had in fact found the only survivor of the massacre. By a million to one chance she had seen movement in one of the death filled carriages and had found a baby hidden under its mother’s body. Now everyone stood around fussing over the child. The civil servant fellow, whom everyone called ‘Bridie’, had produced a basket and some towels from somewhere to make the child a cot.

Even Van Layden seemed taken with the child, and helped out as best he could. However it did not stop him from making some vaguely anti-British point. But when Lady Wyndham asked him to get her travelling case down from the rack he hesitated. Polly thought he looked frightened almost frozen with fear, she also noted that Peters had noticed Van Layden’s reluctance. Eventually the newspaperman steeled himself and lifted the case down and gave it to Lady Wyndham. Both Peters and Polly noticed how Van Layden wiped his hands on his handkerchief before he sat down again.

0=0=0=0

The train chuffed steadily along the track up off the plain near Bhivandi Pura and into the surrounding hills, that is until it came to a steep incline when it slowed and eventually stopped. Captain Scott who was handing out spare rifles and ammunition to the other passengers stopped what he was doing and ran towards the front of the train, telling everyone to stay inside with the blinds down.

“Anybody would think we can’t take care of ourselves,” grumbled Polly.

“Now, now Polly my dear,” placated Henry, “I’m sure the good Captain is only doing what he thinks is best.”

Polly gave Henry one of her best ‘annoyed faces’, which only made him smile.

“When you do that it makes you look like a cross Koala Bear.”

Polly screwed up her face and stuck her tongue out at her husband in a most unladylike way.

After a few minutes Captain Scott came back into the coach to explain that the ram on the front of the engine needed to be removed. He took both the Sepoys and started work. It took about ten minutes to remove the railway sleepers that made up the ram; and true enough when the train started to move again it did seem to be moving a lot faster. The train topped the incline and started down the other side picking up speed until the coach was swaying alarmingly.

0=0=0=0


	3. Chapter 3

Polly was starting to feel sorry for Captain Scott, the poor man had to keep running backwards and forwards in the sun and she felt positive it wasn’t be good for him. After Victoria finally ground to a halt mere feet from the blown track, he bounded up to the drivers cab and ordered Polly back to the coach, of course Polly ignored him.

Seeming not to notice Polly’s complete disregard for his orders Scott jumped down onto the track and made his way to the destroyed section of rail. While he was examining the damage Polly stood in the cab surveying the boulder strewn hillsides for any sign of hostile movement. The Havildar crouched behind his Maxim Gun and did the same. After a couple of minutes Scott came back and signalled for Gupta to reverse the train back into the tunnel, he glanced up at Polly. 

“Mrs Carter-Browne!” he looked at her with pleading eyes, “I thought I told you to go back to the coach?”

“You did,” she replied her mouth set in a determined line, “but I chose to ignore you,” Scott’s mouth dropped open in surprise. “Anyway I thought I’d be more useful out here than sitting in the coach with the others.”

Scott looked as if he was going to add something, but thought better of it.

“Gupta!” he called, “Get us up back into the tunnel.”

Gupta nodded his understanding and started to work the controls. With a great puff of steam and smoke Victoria slowly moved back into the tunnel and stopped. Scott jumped back up onto the train, glanced despairingly at Polly before rushing off to the coach. Polly looked at Gupta and shrugged her petite shoulders before turning and following the Captain back to the coach.

0=0=0=0

The plan was deceptively simple yet fraught with danger. The train would be driven out to the broken section of track; the ‘men-folk’ would then jump off the train and remove the broken sections of rail and replace them with ones taken from behind the train. As this was going on the Havildar would keep watch with the Maxim.

While this was happening the ‘poor, helpless’ women were expected to stay in the coach. Polly had no intention of playing the ‘helpless little woman’ and she suspected that Mrs Wyatt felt the same as she had insisted on taking a rifle off Captain Scott. It had been interesting to note that Scott had given Ms Wyatt, someone who claimed to have used a rifle since she was a child, only five rounds. While Mr Bridie who admitted to having only a passing acquaintance with firearms had received fifteen.

The interesting part of the exercise would come when they had taken up the section of rail from behind the train and before they had replaced the one in front. If they were attacked at this juncture they would be unable to move backwards or forwards. If that happened they would have to abandon the train and make their escape on foot. Normally the prospect of a running fight with large numbers of rebel natives wouldn’t have worried Polly. It was the realisation that she would be held back by a pack of ‘ordinary’ people that worried her; she also knew that she shouldn’t be thinking of people like this. Henry was ‘ordinary’ but he knew what she was capable of and they knew how to work together.

After Captain Scott had explained what they were going to do there was the usual amount of grumbling from Peters and Van Layden who both seemed to think that the train should go back to Haserabad. How they were supposed to fight their way back into the city was not explained. Mr Bridie seemed to be quite willing to do whatever was needed to be done to get to Kalapur. Polly’s estimation of Bridie went up a couple of notches. The old Civil Servant must have been well into his fifties and no doubt quite unused to hard physical labour under the hot Indian sun. Yet he was the only male passenger willing to get his hands dirty, other than her Henry of course.

0=0=0=0

As she watched the reactions and interplay of the other passengers Polly saw Captain Scott draw Henry to one side, she unashamedly eavesdropped on their conversation.

“Carter-Browne,” began Scott, Polly had never really understood this business of using someone’s surname instead of their Christian name, “It’s about your wife.”

“Polly?” Henry leant against the carriage wall as he checked his revolver, “What appears to be the problem Captain?”

“Far be it from me to tell a man how to treat his wife…”

“But you’re going to anyway,” Henry interrupted derailing the Captain’s train of thought, however, Captain Scott was not so easily put off and recovered quickly.

“I really think you should stop her from putting herself in danger that’s all,” Scott explained, the rather hurt look on his face made Polly smile.

“Captain Scott,” Henry stood up drawing himself up to his full height and looking down at Scott, “my wife is a very responsible young woman, who spent all of her childhood in the Australian Outback. I have never known her to panic, and she is an excellent shot with both pistol and rifle. I would have thought that you would have been pleased that you had such a capable person amongst out little group of misfits. I dare say if she was a lad of the same age you’d have no compunction about putting her in danger.”

Polly’s chest swelled with pride at her husbands words and nearly popped a couple of blouse buttons.

“Now look here…” began Scott defensively.

“I know what you mean,” replied Henry, “but Captain Scott you’ve got to move with the times, women nowadays aren’t all the ‘shrinking violets’ that they might have been twenty years ago…now let’s talk no more about it. I’ll talk to Mrs Carter-Browne about repectin’ your authority, if you agree to let her take a hand in helping us get to our destination.”

Only slightly placated Scott nodded and called for all the men to join him outside. Henry walked over to Polly and put his arm about her waist, he bent down as if to kiss her on the check.

“You heard all that I suppose?” Henry whispered, Polly nodded her head in answer “Now be a good little wife and do as you’re told.” 

“Not bloody likely, Henry Carter-Browne!” Polly tried to keep a straight face but failed.

0=0=0=0

After the men had climbed down onto the track-side Polly made her way towards the front of the carriage, as she did so she picked up a spare rifle someone had left lying against the back of one of the seats. Opening the bolt she found an empty magazine, looking around for some spare ammunition, she spotted a military haversack hung on a hook near the door to the observation platform. 

Finding it full of spare five round clips, she quickly thumbed two clips into her rifle’s magazine, next she put a several spares into the pockets of her skirt. After checking the revolver on her hip she opened the door and strode out into the sun. Stepped daintily on to the flat car she took up position near the Havildar and his Maxim Gun. The soldier looked up at her and nodded his head either in recognition or approval of her actions. It seemed odd to Polly that the Native soldier didn’t think it strange that she was willing to contribute to the common defence. But then, maybe the odd actions of the Memsahibs didn’t surprise the old soldier.

0=0=0=0

“Come on Van Layden,” called Captain Scott, “unfortunately your survival depends on our survival…now lend a hand.”

Turning slightly Van Layden looked up from where he had been scribbling in a notebook and replaced his hat. He walked away from the front of Victoria where he’d been standing and took a giant spanner from Gupta who was showing everyone how to remove the broken rail from its sleeper. With an ill will and a few muttered anti-British comments Van Layden set to work.

The ‘work crew’ had to remove two damaged rails from in front of the train by the end of which time they were almost working as a team. No doubt, thought Polly, a team of Chinese or Irish navvies could have performed the task in half the time. As they worked they were accompanied by a litany of complaints from Van Layden against the British Empire and the British in general. He seemed to blame the British for everything from the weight of the rails to the heat of the sun. Watching as the men moved to the rear of the train, Polly gave Henry a little wave as he passed by, he in turn smiled up at her and winked. As she turned to survey the hillsides once more she noticed a flash out of the corner of her eye.

“Did you see that?” she asked the Havildar, the soldier glanced up at the sound of her voice a look of incomprehension on his face. “Damn!” cursed Polly, the soldier obviously didn’t understand English. 

Watching the hillsides more closely, Polly was soon rewarded by seeing a series of flashes coming from a distant hilltop.

“CAPTAIN SCOTT!” she yelled at the top of her voice and pointed to the distant signal; just then the train whistle blew.

Polly’s eyes went immediately to where Van Layden stood, he looked her right in the eye and smiled a smile the likes of which she had only seen before on the face of a vampire. Gupta rushed towards the cab where he jumped up and hit the whistle with a hammer. Once silence had fallen everyone scanned the hills for any sign of hostiles.

“Well that will have given the game away,” Scott bent back to the work in hand, “come on you lot put y’backs into it!” 

Polly watched as the men struggled with the undamaged rails as they moved them towards the front of the train. Each rail was about twelve feet long and needed at least four men to carry it; Polly was of the opinion that she could have carried one by herself or maybe with the help of one other person. Thrusting these thoughts aside she went back to watching the hillside.

It was during the sweaty process of attaching the rails to the sleepers that Polly noticed the first few small rocks being displaced as if by someone’s passing. She looked over to where she could see Henry and Captain Scott start to bolt the rails together, as Gupta took a water container down to a small spring that ran along a ditch beside the railway line. Polly’s senses warned her that there was danger all around.

“Get a move on mates, something’s not right!” both Henry and Scott looked up at her warning, only to dive for cover as the first shots rang out across the hillside.

Captain Scott yelled something in army Hindi the only words of which Polly could understand were ‘Maxim’ and ‘Covering fire!’ The next second the air was rent by the yammer of the Maxim Gun as the Havildar sent a hail of hot lead up at the hillside. Searching the slopes Polly could see the heads of rebels appear from behind rocks and over crest lines. Putting her rifle to her shoulder she fired off two quick shots, and was gratified to see two rebels tumble from behind the rocks where they had taken cover.

Moving her position to the driver’s cab, more to get away from the noise of the Maxim than for the cover it afforded, Polly glanced through the ‘porthole’ in the front of the cab. Seeing Henry and Captain Scott still struggling to secure the bolts holding the rails together, she moved to the side of the cab facing the hillside and started to fire steadily into the rebels. The rebels had now grown bolder or more desperate as they advanced down through the rocks and gullies towards the train.

Opening the bolt of he rifle to find the magazine empty, Polly felt in her skirt pocket for the spare clips that lay there and cursed herself for not bringing more. Thumbing the rounds into the magazine she flicked the empty clips away with the heel of her hand. Closing the bolt once more, she started to fire at the rebels as they continued their advance. Polly could hear someone fire a pistol from near the front of the train. That’s worrying, she thought, the rebels must have got close enough for someone to think it worthwhile to fire a revolver at them.

Working the rifle bolt Polly watched as dead rebels tumbled down the slope as they fell victim to the fire of the Maxim. Then just as it looked as if the Maxim would break the back of the rebel attack the weapon jammed. Turning Polly saw the Havildar struggle to clear the jammed machine gun. This left Polly and the rifle armed Sepoy to keep the rebels at bay.

Rebel bullets hit the engine making a sound like hail on a tin roof, stray rounds hit the coach sending splinters in all directions, how anybody could think it was safer in the carriage than outside, she couldn’t imagine. Turning back to face the enemy she fired off her last three rounds sending two rebels to an early death, the third wouldn’t walk properly ever again.

“AMMO!” she screamed at the Havildar hoping that the word was one he was familiar with.

The man looked up and seeing Polly not firing, the open bolt of her rifle he put two and two together. He ripped open the pouches on his belt and threw several spare clips towards where she sheltered. The clips clattered and skidded across the cab floor. Polly scrabbled on her hands and knees after them, again she loaded her rifle. Standing up she took aim and once more continued to take her deadly toll of the attackers.

However, despite her best efforts and those of her husband and Captain Scott some of the rebels where now no more than fifty yards away. Embolden by not having to face the Maxim (by now the Havildar had given up his efforts to clear the jam and had picked up a rifle) the rebels steeled themselves to rush the train.

Gupta chose this moment to make a break for the train having been trapped in the track-side ditch for most of the fight. He sprang up and started to run towards his precious engine. There was a burst of firing from the rebels as they saw the movement and Gupta fell in mid stride sliding across the ground in a cloud of dust. Polly fired knocking down a couple of rebels who had risen from their hiding places to finish off the driver with their long sharp swords. Miraculously Gupta staggered to his feet, or more accurately to his foot. The little Indian driver hopped his way towards his cab. Bullets sent up clouds of dust all around him as he made his painful way towards safety. Polly found herself cheering him on until he eventually made it to the footplate, grabbing hold of his hand she heaved him into the safety of the cab. Gupta looked up at Polly from the cab floor an expression of shocked surprise on his face, no doubt wondering how such a little Memsahib could be so strong.

“Many thank-you’s Memsahib!” he called over the sound of firing, “Now Memsahib please to be getting out of Gupta’s way!”

Polly squeezed herself into the corner of the cab as Gupta took a shovel full of red hot coals from the firebox and hopped to the side of the cab nearest the rebels. Flinching away from the bullets that ‘splanged’ from off the metalwork he hurled the coals into the tinder dry scrub lining the ditch at the side of the track. In seconds flames leapt from bush to bush as great clouds of black smoke rolled up to be caught by the wind and blown towards the rebels. Polly fired into the smoke at indistinct figures that appeared and disappeared menacingly through gaps in the smoke and flame. Turning at a sound from behind her Polly saw Captain Scott climb into the cab.

“Alright Gupta!” he ordered wiping the sweat from his eyes with the back of hand, “Full speed ahead.”

“Henry?” gasped Polly looking around to search for her husband.

“He’s alright ma’am,” wheezed Scott as the engine gathered speed.

Henry climbed into the flat-car and take up position next to the Havildar. Polly jumped from the cab and threw herself at Henry in relief and wrapped him in a bear like hug.

“I say old thing!” wheezed Henry; “Wouldn’t mind breathing sometime soon.”

Polly’s answer was drowned out by the Maxim on the rear platform that could now be brought to bear on the rebels, as it rat-a-tat-tatted at the rebels who tried to follow the train.

0=0=0=0

Once again the Carter-Browne’s found themselves seated across from each other cleaning their weapons.

“Don’t you think it odd that the Maxim should jam just as the rebels are getting ready to charge?” Polly pulled the ‘pull-through’ along the barrel of her rifle as she spoke.

“Dashed odd if you ask me,” Henry scrubbed at the powder residue on the cylinder of his revolver with an old toothbrush, “We used those things in the South African War don’t-cha-know and didn’t have half the trouble…and those were older models too!”

Polly glanced over her shoulder to where Peters was trying to repair the jammed Maxim.

“One gun I could believe,” Polly agreed, “but there’s been jams on both of them, just when they’ve been needed them most…and then there’s the whistle going off at just the wrong time.”

“Well, my dear,” Henry said with a wry smile, “the Captain did tell me that the whistle does tend to stick at the most inappropriate times.”

“Never the less,” Polly remained unwilling to accept any explanation that did not show Van Layden in a bad light, “the fact remains it did stick, the Maxims have jammed and I think Van Layden is causing it to happen.”

“Magic you think?” asked Henry glancing to where Van Layden huddled in a corner reading a book.

“Damn right darl,” muttered Polly darkly.

“I’ll try and see if that book he keeps reading is as innocent as it looks,” Henry reached across the table and patted Polly’s hand as he spoke.

Just then the door to the flat-car opened and Mrs Wyatt walked in.

“How’s Gupta?” asked Polly sympathetically.

“He’ll be fine,” the American woman assured Polly; Mrs Wyatt had been a Doctor’s wife and was quite expert in all things medical, “the bullet went clean through the muscle and didn’t hit the bone, he’ll be fine.”

“He should be in the carriage,” Lady Wyndham spoke up from her seat where she was playing ‘Snap’ with little Kishan. “That wound might dry out prematurely, then who knows what infections might set in what with this heat?”

“He’s teaching Captain Scott how to drive Victoria, so he won’t come in I’m afraid,” replied Mrs Wyatt dropping into a seat across from Lady Wyndham.

“Hmmm,” announced Lady Wyndham as she stood up, “tea I think,” she headed towards the service compartment at the rear of the coach where there was a small water heater.

“I can see why the British are so keen to keep hold of India,” Polly smiled, Henry raised a questioning eyebrow, “well, what would happen if your tea supplies were cut off?”

“I seem to remember that all the Australians I’ve met so far drink copious quantities of the stuff as well!”

“My God!” Polly exclaimed laughing, “You’re right! India must stay part of the Empire forever!”

0=0=0=0

The train clattered on over the uneven track as they headed across an arid plain leaving the mountains behind them. Peters had given up on the broken Maxim gun saying it was beyond repair, this left them with only the one machine gun drastically reducing their fire power. Polly noticed that Van Layden looked exceedingly pleased when Peters gave up on the gun, Polly felt she had to say something.

“Y’know Van Layden,” Polly stood in the aisle facing the newspaperman, “if the rebels manage to stop the train and get aboard they’ll kill everyone even you.”

“Mrs Carter-Browne,” Van Layden sneered up from his book, “I’m quite prepared to die for what I believe and I believe that India should be free of the British. Sometimes the only way to achieve great things is through struggle and death.”

“I’ll remind you of that when they’re slitting your throat,” Polly turned away from the man and walked to the other end of the carriage, the urge to do him violence was almost overwhelming.

“Well said my dear,” said Lady Wyndham quietly as Polly passed her seat.

Sensing that Polly needed to be as far away from Van Layden as she could. Lady Wyndham reached down her parasol from the rack above her head.

“I was wondering Mrs Carter-Browne, if you wouldn’t mind taking this out to the driver?” she asked, “It’ll help keep the sun off his wound.”

“Thank-you, yes I will.” Polly nodded, accepting the proffered parasol.

Checking her pistol before opening the door Polly strode out onto the flat-car. The coal wagon was deserted, the Havildar having taken up a position with the remaining Maxim at the rear of the train. Gupta sat in the corner of the flat-car nearest the engine. Captain Scott stood in the driver’s cab with Mrs Wyatt. Polly smiled to herself she knew all the signs. Yes, there was a romance growing there between the career soldier and the Doctor’s widow.

“Here you are,” Polly opened the parasol and handed it to Gupta, “a present from Lady Wyndham, she seems to have everything in that bag of hers. I keep expecting her to pull a rabbit out of it half the time!”

Gupta held the parasol self-consciously and smiled his thanks.

“I hope my fellow drivers do not see Gupta like this!” he laughed seeing the funny side, “They will think Gupta has turned into Memsahib!”

“Oh yes!” exclaimed Scott rubbing his hands together, “Gupta, you look like you’re ready for Hendley Regatta!”

“Who is Henry Regatta?” the little India asked mystified.

Polly had to admit a little curiosity too.

“Hendley Regatta, Gupta,” explained Scott, “It’s a thing not a person.”

Gupta did not look any the wiser, and neither was Polly and by the looks of things Mrs Wyatt was not too sure what Captain Scott was talking about. Polly caught Mrs Wyatt’s eye.

“Are you quite certain he hasn’t had too much sun?” she asked.

“No, no!” cried Scott, “It’s where all the most Sahib of Sahibs and their Memsahibs dress up in all their finest clothes and row themselves up and down the river.”

Gupta laughed and shook his head in disbelief, Mrs Wyatt and Polly shared astonished looks.

“I know,” admitted Scott with a shrug, “it all sounds bloody ridiculous, it’s the sort of thing I joined the army to get away from. But, there’s a jolly little song that goes with it…” he filled his lungs before starting to sing…

_“Jolly boating weather,  
And a hay harvest breeze,   
Blade on the feather,   
Shade off the trees,   
Swing swing together,   
With your bodies between your knees,   
Swing swing together,   
With your bodies between your knees.”_

*

Polly and Mrs Wyatt burst into spontaneous applause while Gupta looked mystified at the antics of the Sahib and Memsahibs. Captain Scott glanced out of the forward window and started to slow the train down.

“Looks like we’re coming to Jamshara Station, we’ll need to take on water here,” he glanced over at Mrs Wyatt and Polly, “I’ll have to ask you ladies to return to the carriage.”

Polly gave him an ‘annoyed look’ that would have blistered the paint on the side of a battleship; Captain Scott, however, appeared to be totally unaffected.

“Please Mrs Carter-Browne,” he almost pleaded, “and could you tell everyone what’s goin’ on?”

Reluctantly Polly made her way back to the carriage.

0=0=0=0

*: Eton Boating song, first performed circa 1855. So even I’m not old enough to have written it!

Authors Note: Odd thing, did you know you can sing the words of ‘My Old Man’s a Dustman’ to the tune of the Eton Boating Song? Which unless you’re English and of a certain age probably means nothing to you!?


	4. Chapter 4

Victoria wheezed her way slowly into Jamshara Station as they passed by the Havildar gave the station buildings a quick burst from the Maxim. There was no answering fire as Victoria ground to an exhausted halt. The passengers all waited for Captain Scott to say it was safe before dismounting. Polly sat in her seat next to Henry eager to get on with the task in hand, she hated playing this waiting game it went against her slayer instincts. She felt she should be out there searching the station for danger. 

Scott stuck his head around the door, “Everybody off please,” he called. 

Springing to her feet, Polly was the first off the train and the first catch sight of the station. Jamshara Station stood in the middle of a sun baked plain that stretched off to the now distant mountains. Stunted dry scrub bushes covered the dusty plain, the station itself consisted of a brick built station house a few wooden huts, a water tower and pump house. There were no other buildings in any direction as far as the eye could see. All the station buildings had had their doors and windows smashed in and then set on fire. Obviously there had been no one home when the rebels had called as there were no piles of bodies to greet the party as they stepped down from the train. 

“The rebels smashed up the water tower,” Captain Scott said as he began organising people, “but they missed the pump house. All we need to do is to get the water from the pump to Victoria.”

Peters and Van Layden were told to find fire wood for the steam pump while everyone else searched about for buckets. After several minutes everyone found some sort of water container while Peters and Van Layden had found sufficient fire wood to keep the pump going long enough to fill Victoria’s water tank. It had to be said that Peters had collected the lion’s share of wood while Van Layden had wandered about picking up the odd twig.

Taking some hot coals from Victoria’s fire box, Captain Scott soon had a fire going under the pump’s boiler. It seemed that in a very short period of time, under Gupta’s tutorship Captain Scott had become quite the expert on steam engines. Polly wondered if all British officers were that quick or whether Gupta was just an excellent teacher. Very soon the pump’s huge flywheel was spinning and water was gushing out onto the dry dusty ground. Everyone took whatever containers they’d found and filled them at the pipe and then took them to the train. Captain Scott stood on the side of the engine and handed the water containers up to Gupta who sat on top of the water tank pouring the water into the Victoria’s tanks. Polly got some odd looks from Captain Scott and Lady Wyndham as she lifted an old tin baby bath full of water up to Captain Scott; she smiled at the Captain’s puzzled face.

“I’m a station girl deep down,” she laughed, “I’ve got muscles on my muscles!”

She could see that she had not fully convinced Captain Scott and Lady Wyndham was still giving her some very odd looks. On her next trip she remembered to only fill the bath half full before taking it to the train. On her third her trip, Polly noticed Prince Kishan was no where to be seen.

“Where’s the little Prince?” she asked Mrs Wyatt as she passed her in the queue for the pump.

The American woman looked around a look of concern slowly spreading across her face.

“I told him to take his shoes off and play.” 

Sure enough there were a small pair of shoes lying on a stone nearby, but of the Prince there was no sign. 

Polly put down her bath, “I’ll help you look.”

The two concerned women started to search the out buildings. Eventually Polly went to look in the pump house; in her experience small boys were drawn to any kind of dangerous machinery. Unnoticed over the noise of the steam pump she pushed open the door to the pump house. Before her she could see Prince Kishan standing in front of the great spinning flywheel laughing as he stuck pieces of wood in between the whirling spokes and watching as they were smashed to splinters. Behind the boy stood Van Layden with his hands on the lad’s shoulders. To someone who was not suspicious of Van Layden’s motives it would look as if the man was holding the boy so he would not fall into the spinning wheel and be chopped into mincemeat. To Polly it looked as if Van Layden was about to push the boy into the wheel and kill him, while claiming it was an unfortunate accident.

Loosening the revolver in it’s holster Polly slowly drew the weapon, she could easily put a bullet through Van Layden’s brain and grab the boy before he fell or ran in panic into the wheel. She would say that she had caught Van Layden about to push the boy to his death and no one would be able to gainsay her. Carefully thumbing back the revolver’s hammer Polly was just about to bring the weapon up into the aim and snuff out Van Layden’s life once and for all, when she felt a presence behind her and turned to find Mrs Wyatt standing there.

“Kishan!” she called not noticing the weapon in Polly’s hand, “Get away from there!”

“Yes Mr Van Layden!” Polly quickly hid her pistol in the folds of her skirt, “I’m surprised at you, the boy could have got hurt!”

Kishan obediently stepped away from the pump before running to his governess.

“The boy was perfectly safe with me,” replied Van Layden in a fluster.

Polly watched as Mrs Wyatt led the boy away fusing over the mud and soot he’d got on his clothes; Polly pulled out her revolver from its hiding place and replaced it in her holster.

“What were you going to do with that?” asked Van Layden sarcastically, “Slay me?”

Polly looked at the ‘man’, her eyes hard with barely concealed loathing.

“I don’t need this to put an end to you,” snarled Polly only just holding to her temper, “I could snap your neck as easily as that!” she illustrated her point by snapping her fingers.

“But you won’t,” sneered Van Layden, “not now.” 

He got up and started to push his way passed her, she put her hand on his chest and held him back; he seemed astonished by her strength.

“What’s going on here?” asked Captain Scott from behind Polly.

“Mrs Carter-Browne was accusing me of trying to kill the boy!” blurted out Van Layden.

“I’m sure she wasn’t,” Scott said uncomfortably, “were you Mrs Carter-Browne?”

“Most certainly not!” sniffed Polly haughtily. “I was just pointing out to Mr Van Layden the dangers of letting small boys too close to dangerous machinery.”

Marching off with all the dignity she could muster, Polly headed back to the train as she did so she caught a glimpse of Lady Wyndham watching her closely. Polly tried to ignore her and walked over to where Henry stood smoking a cigarette. It seemed that in her absence they had finished filling Victoria’s water tanks and were just waiting for Captain Scott to order everyone back onto the train.

“What’s wrong my love?” asked Henry as he saw the look on Polly’s face.

“Nearly bloody got the bloody bastard!” hissed Polly, “But that bloody Wyatt woman got in the way.”

“I’m sure you’ll get another chance,” her husband soothed while wincing at his wife’s language.

“Yes but when?” she demanded almost stamping her foot in frustration.

“ALL ABOARD!” cried Captain Scott from the footplate, the passengers reluctantly returned to the train and took up their accustomed places in the coach.

With any luck, they were told, it would be a straight run through to Kalapur now.

0=0=0=0

Henry had gone out onto the rear platform to talk business with Peters, she knew that Henry was incredibly rich and she realised that the money must come from somewhere. But, even after more than a year of knowing him and six weeks of married life she still had no idea from where it came from. Henry was very reticent about the whole affair and would only say that he bought and sold things. One day, when things were not quite as frantic as they were now she was going to have to have it out with him. In the meantime she sat in her corner and read her book on how to be a perfect wife, she needed to be cheered up so she thought she might read the bit about sex again. However, she didn’t get the chance as Lady Wyndham slid into the seat opposite her. She looked at the cover of Polly’s book and smiled.

“I hope you’re not taking that book too seriously?” she asked, “I found the part about ‘Marital Relations’ extremely misleading. I’d not let any daughter of mine read such nonsense.”

Polly nearly choked trying to stifle an unladylike laugh, Lady Wyndham raised a quizzical eyebrow and carried on talking.

“However some of the household hints are very useful, particularly the ones about getting blood out of your clothing.”

Polly sobered immediately and started to wish that Henry would come back.

“Don’t look so worried my dear,” continued her Ladyship straightening the cuff of her blouse, “I’ve seen how that husband of yours ‘watches’ over you. My husband used to ‘watch’ over me like that…the Wyndham family are quite famous for…watching.” The older woman winked conspiratorially at the girl in the seat opposite.

“You mean you were a…” Polly’s mouth dropped open in astonishment.

“Oh yes quite so.” Lady Wyndham nonchalantly produced a long slim dagger from up the sleeve of her blouse, and then, just as quickly, made it disappear.

“I thought there was only supposed to be one…you know…‘girl in all the World’?” whispered Polly as she leant towards Lady Wyndham.

“Stuff an’ nonsense my girl,” declared Lady Wyndham, “stuff and nonsense, fairy stories made up by silly old men who want to control the…” Lady Wyndham mouthed the word ‘Slayer’, “As you can plainly see the story that there can only be one…girl, is evidently untrue seeing how we’re both here. Now what do you intend to do about Mr Van Layden?”

“I thought I’d kill him,” replied Polly quietly, “I nearly had him back at Jamshara Station but Mrs Wyatt turned up at just the wrong moment.” 

Polly’s voice drifted away as she glanced around to see Mrs Wyatt playing cards with Prince Kishan, her brow furrowed for a moment.

“You don’t think she’s a, you know, too?”

“No my dear you would have felt it,” explained the senior Slayer.

“Felt it?” Polly asked puzzled.

“All ‘girls’ can feel the presence of another,” Lady Wyndham watched the expression on Polly’s face, “I take it you didn’t ‘feel’ me, and no one’s told you that you could.”

Polly shook her head, Lady Wyndham tutted and rolled her eyes.

“I take it you’re the girl that was killed by the leeches in Australia?”

“Leeches?” Queried Polly, then the penny dropped, “Oh you mean the things that begin with ‘V’?”

“Yes,” replied Lady Wyndham with a small smile, “and I take it your husband was your watcher then and has covered up your; shall we say…remarkable recovery?”

Polly nodded her head at Lady Wyndham’s assessment.

“You’ll have to watch Van Layden like a hawk my dear,” she explained, “he hasn’t got long before we reach Kalapur where he’ll not be able to get near the boy. I’ll do what I can but I’m not as young as I used to be,” Lady Wyndham smiled at Polly reassuringly, “I’m afraid it’s all down to you. If the Prince dies the whole of India could be plunged into sectarian violence, the lives of million’s rest on your shoulders.”

“No pressure then?” replied Polly despondently.

“That’s my girl,” Lady Wyndham stood up to go back to her seat she patted Polly on the shoulder, “good luck Polly my dear.” 

Polly sat huddled up in her seat, any thoughts of distracting her mind with a little light reading forgotten. It was times like this that she wished her Mum was there.

0=0=0=0

It was late afternoon when the train started to slow down yet again, it had seemed that they were making excellent time and would be in Kalapur before night fall. There had been no sign of the rebels and Van Layden had stayed in his seat and limited himself to glaring at the other passengers if they came too close to him. Polly looked out of the window. Here the terrain was a little more broken than on the plain, it was however still arid and barren. Victoria ground to a halt.

“This must be the Kupra Bridge,” announced Mr Bridie as he looked out of the window, “I crossed it five years ago when I was on leave.”

At that moment Captain Scott walked disconsolately into the coach.

“Right then,” he signed, Polly didn’t need slayer powers to note the tone of disappointment in his voice, “everybody off the train please.”

Polly looked at Henry, “I wonder what’s gone wrong now?”

The Kupra Bridge was nearly half a mile long, it crossed a wide gully or a narrow valley with a dry river bed at the bottom. The sides of the valley were almost vertical and at least one hundred feet high. The drop from the centre of the bridge to the valley floor was nearer two hundred feet. The bridge itself was constructed from iron girders atop stone pylons. Right in the middle of the central span was a large hole about eight or nine feet wide. The area around the hole was blackened and surrounded by twisted metal work. One rail of the track was almost completely undamaged, while the other was bent out of shape, both hung over thin air. Captain Scott stood hands on hips inspecting the damage.

“Luckily for us,” he began tiredly, “the chaps who did this weren’t too clever with explosives.”

Polly thought they’d done a pretty good job, but then she was no expert.

“You see,” continued Scott pointing at the bent rails, “most of the blast went up instead of down and the rails are still intact.”

Polly had an unpleasant feeling about what Scott was going to say next.

“What we’ll have to do is cross this gap,” he pointed out, “then I’ll drive Victoria across.”

There were several gasps from various passengers and Van Layden made his usual comments about British incompetence and the advisability of turning back, he was ignored by all.

“Mr Van Layden,” Scott angrily turned on the newspaperman, “we can’t stay here and we can’t go back! As we speak there could be a hundred pairs of eyes watching us…”

“Yes!” interrupted Van Layden, “What if we’re attacked while we’re crossing? We’d be sitting ducks out here.”

“I’m going to send the soldier’s ahead with the Maxim to give us covering fire if we’re attacked.”

As they spoke the Havildar and the Sepoy arrived from the train carrying the Maxim and several boxes of ammunition. The two native soldiers crossed the gap quickly and efficiently, they set up the Maxim some yards up the track then one of them came back and took the baby across in its basket.

“Right,” said Scott with forced jollity, “that was the army. I don’t expect you’ll find it so easy…any volunteers?” 

No one moved. To most people the prospect of crossing a gap on a four inch wide rail above a two hundred foot drop was daunting to say the least. The gap might only be eight feet across, but the drop beneath it stretched that eight feet to miles! Polly stepped forward.

“I’ll go first,” she announced brightly.

“Oh well done Mrs Carter-Browne,” smiled Scott, “the Sepoy will catch you at the other side and I’ll steady you from this.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Polly calculated the distance in her mind, “if everybody would just stand back?”

Captain Scott looked to Henry uncertainly.

“I’m sure my wife knows what she’s doing Captain,” replied Henry to the Captain’s unasked question.

Reluctantly Scott and the Sepoy stepped back, as did the rest of the passengers. Polly walked up to the edge of the hole and then turned and took three or four paces back along the bridge. Hitching up the hem of her skirt she turned and ran at the gap. At the last moment she dived at the rail and performed a perfect ‘cartwheel’ as she crossed the hole seemingly to spinning in mid air. There was a stunned silence as Polly bounced to a halt and turned to face her fellow travellers.

“Oh do stop showing off Penelope,” drawled Henry.

This seemed to break the spell and there was a smattering of stunned applause from the people on the wrong side of the gap.

“See how easy that was?” observed Scott with remarkable aplomb.

0=0=0=0

Slowly but surely everyone got across the gap, it was only when Van Layden, Captain Scout and the Prince were the only ones left to cross that Polly thought there was something amiss. The boy had been understandably reluctant to try, and just when Polly thought Scott was going to carry the boy across. Scott crossed by himself and told Van Layden to hold the boy out to him! Was Scott blind to what was going on? Anybody could see that Van Layden was deliberately holding the boy short so that Scott couldn’t grab hold of him. Polly looked first to Henry and then to Lady Wyndham, the looks on both there faces told her she should do something.

Dashing forward to where Scott balanced on the rail trying to reach for the boy, Polly couldn’t understand why Van Layden didn’t just push the boy to his death. Polly came up behind Scott grabbing him by the belt and heaving him out the way, taking a couple of quick steps out onto the rail she took the boy by the arm. Van Layden fell back in surprise and let go of the Prince. The boy stumbled and fell off the rail to dangle by one arm over the precipitous drop. Holding on as the boy swung screaming from her hand, Polly steadied herself herself before lifting the boy into a more secure position and carrying him to safety. As she set foot on to the undamaged part of the bridge Henry stepped forward.

“What the hell do you think you were doing Van Layden?” he yelled at the newspaperman, “You deliberately held that boy short; anybody would think you were trying to let him fall!”

“She nearly dropped him!” accused Van Layden pointing at Polly. “Look out Mrs Wyatt,” he called to the American woman who was hugging her charge, “don’t hold that boy too tight or he’ll say you’re trying to strangle him!”

“You’re quite right!” announced Lady Wyndham, “Captain Scott, I’ve been watching Mr Van Layden through-out the journey. He has done nothing but try to put us all in danger and threaten the well-being of His Highness.”

By this time Scott had scrabbled back to his feet and was collecting himself after being hurled bodily to one side by the tiny woman who was now hanging on to her husband’s arm and contriving to look meek and innocent. He would get to the bottom of that later, now he had more pressing problems.

“Van Layden!” he called pulling his revolver and pointing it at Van Layden’s chest, “Get over here immediately or, by God, I’ll shoot you where you stand!”

For a moment Polly hoped that Van Layden would make a dash for freedom, she knew that even if Scott couldn’t make good on his promise she could bring him down with a single shot. Van Layden hesitated seemingly weighing his chances, and then reluctantly he started to cross. Scott called over to the Havildar who came running. As Van Layden stepped onto their side of the bridge the Havildar grabbed hold of him.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Van Layden demanded.

“I’m putting you under arrest until we get to Kalapur, Van Layden,” Scott watched as the Havildar started to drag the man away.

“You’ll regret this for the rest of your life Scott!” screamed Van Layden as he struggled in the soldier’s grip, “I’ll have you broken for this!”

“Oh do shut-up!” called Henry then looking down at Polly he said, “Very spectacular by the way…now we’ll have to convince everyone that it didn’t happen the way they saw it!”

0=0=0=0

As it happened Polly and Henry had no trouble convincing everyone that they had not seen what they thought they had. First there had been a few tense minutes as Captain Scott drove the train over the gap. The bridge groaned and the rails bent under the weight of the train but after a few breathless moments Victoria was once more on firm ground.

After this piece of excitement, Lady Wyndham had loudly exclaimed how lucky it had been that Mrs Carter-Browne had been there to catch the Prince when Captain Scott had stumbled and fallen. Everybody agreed that it had been most fortunate and had congratulated Polly on her bravery and forethought. Lady Wyndham’s explanation was certainly more believable than what they thought they had seen. After all how could a tiny young woman like Mrs Carter-Browne lift a man like Captain Scott with one hand?

Van Layden had been locked up in the service compartment at the back of the coach under the watchful gaze of the Sepoy or the Havildar. Captain Scott was driving Victoria as Gupta had developed a fever and had been told to rest in the coach. The Prince was out on the driver’s cab with Scott and the other passengers were passing the time until they reached Kalapur, with luck it would only take a couple of more hours.

0=0=0=0

The demon who had inhabited Van Layden’s body was furious with himself, he had miscalculated badly. He had thought that the compulsion he had planted in Van Layden’s mind plus the man’s own fanaticism would be enough to ensure the Prince’s death. But he had obviously misjudged Van Layden’s willingness to actually kill the boy; he must still have a spark of humanity in him.

The Demon would make sure that Van Layden would not fail him again. There was only so much time left, already the rebel princes were slipping from his control as they failed to take Haserabad and there were no reports of the Prince’s death. The demon decided he would have to take control and deal with matter’s himself. If he could kill the Prince the Hindus and the Moslems would be at each others throats for years and the British would be caught in the middle.

The demon slipped into Van Layden’s body and mind and the entity that had been Van Layden died. The demon chuckled to himself; if he was clever about this he could kill the Prince and make it look as if the British were in league with the Moslems!

0=0=0=0


	5. Chapter 5

Once again Polly found herself staring out of the window as the countryside rolled by. The terrain here was more undulating than broken and it was starting to get slightly greener; she’d even caught the occasional glimpse of a house or small village in the distance. Turning back she saw Henry staring at her, a slight smile on his face.

“What are you looking at, Henry Carter-Browne?” she asked self-consciously as she half-heartedly tried to straighten her hair.

“I’m looking at you,” smiled Henry.

“Well don’t…I must look a right scarecrow.” Polly joked.

“Oh I don’t know,” replied Henry airily, “I’ve heard you scrub up well and to be honest I’d not really noticed.”

Polly looked down at her once pristine blouse and skirt to find them smudged with dust, soot and oil, she gave her husband a disbelieving look.

“Henry?” she asked hopefully, “Do you think we can leave India soon?”

“Of course, don’t you like it here?” Henry looked concerned as he asked and reached over to take her hand in his.

“Oh, it’s all right,” Polly explained wiping at some oil on her face with what had once been a lace handkerchief, “It’s just that there’s so many people here, I’m not used to it.”

“Of course,” Henry thought the problem through, “India must be a bit over powering. When you’re used to your closest neighbour being about a dozen miles away. Any idea where you’d like to go next?”

“Somewhere where there’s less people?” she suggested hopefully.

“I’ll see what I can come up with…cards?” Henry held up a dog eared pack.

“Poker?” Polly suggested eagerly.

“Not much fun playing Poker with just the two of us, well not in public anyway,” Henry smiled and looked around the carriage, “Peters,” he called, “care for a hand or two…table stakes?”

“Why not?” Peters got up to join them, “I might get to win back some of what I owe you from earlier…though I doubt it,” he smiled good naturedly as he sat down next to Polly.

“Do you mind if I sit in?”

“Lady Wyndham! I didn’t know you played,” Peters raised an eyebrow.

“Mr Peters,” replied her Ladyship, “there’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

Sharing a secret smile with Polly Lady Wyndham sat down next to Henry as he began to deal the cards.

0=0=0=0

Half-an-hour later Peters looked at the little piles of Rupees in front of each player, some piles were smaller than others; he looked across the table at Henry.

“My dear fellow,” he drawled, “if I didn’t know better I’d say that the Ladies were playing as a team!”

“Now, now Mr Peters,” Lady Wyndham laid down three kings and two sevens, a winning hand, “how could we possibly be playing as a team?”

They never found out how Peters thought that Lady Wyndham and Polly were playing as a team because just at that moment the door to the service compartment burst open.

0=0=0=0

“Everybody stand up where I can see you!” ordered Van Layden.

Slowly everyone got up and stood in the aisle, there was something odd about Van Layden’s voice. Only Lady Wyndham and Polly could guess why it had changed and Henry no doubt had a good idea. The three exchanged glances, Henry’s eyebrows crept up towards his hairline as it suddenly dawned on him what Lady Wyndham must be.

“Where’s the Prince?” demanded Van Layden with a snarl.

He sat in the doorway to the service compartment, he had somehow dragged the working Maxim Gun in from outside, and now he was pointing it down the length of the carriage. By some means he must have overpowered the Sepoy guarding him: Polly hoped the native soldier was still alive.

“He’s outside with Captain Scott,” Mrs Wyatt stepped forward to confront Van Layden.

“Call him in,” demanded Van Layden taking an even firmer grip on the Maxim.

Polly studied Van Layden from where she stood just behind Henry. The man was sweating profusely as if he was burning up from the inside. His eyes darted nervously from side to side and his mouth seemed to tremble when he spoke; she’d seen this sort of thing once or twice before. These were the signs of a hurried demonic possession; obviously whatever had taken over Van Layden’s body hadn’t had enough time to do the job properly. If they could stall him for long enough Van Layden would self destruct.

“No!” said Mrs Wyatt bluntly, “I will not call him in.”

“I will not kill you if you call him in,” Van Layden promised.

“No,” repeated Mrs Wyatt, “and Captain Scott will never bring him in…I’ll scream long before he does!”

Polly noticed that Mrs Wyatt had slowly moved so that her body was between the Maxim and the door leading to the flat-car; she looked around weighing up her options, they weren’t good. There were too many people between herself and Van Layden for her to get a clear shot at him she needed someone or something to distract him.

“You don’t understand!” pleaded Van Layden, “He has to die so that India can be free…”

Maybe there was a little of the real Van Layden still in there, thought Polly. This could be useful because if there was it might distract the demon within.

“A Moslem India of course,” Peters stepped into Van Layden’s line of sight, Polly started to make her move, slowly worming her way towards the demon and his gun.

“I noticed your reluctance to touch Lady Wyndham’s pig skin case,” explained Peters, “then there was your refusal to drink alcohol, when I offered you a drink after that business with the refugee train.”

“YES!” cried the Van Layden demon, “What if I am Moslem?”

“I don’t care what you are,” replied Peters airily, he edged closer to Van Layden.

Polly was almost in position if she just pushed Mr Bridie out of the way she would have a clear shot at Van Layden.

“Call him in!” demanded Van Layden once more, “Can’t you see?” Van Layden sobbed, “The life of one small boy for the lives of millions!” a typical demonic bargain.

“Never!” replied Mrs Wyatt dramatically.

“If you’re going to kill us all,” Peters was now in easy reach of Van Layden, “you’d better take your safety catch off!”

Peters lunged for the gun, as Van Layden glanced down automatically. Peters succeeded in knocking the gun to one side. Suddenly the air was full of the noise of gunfire as Van Layden pressed down on the triggers and kept them down. Flame and gunsmoke belched from the barrel of the Maxim as bullets riddled the ceiling of the coach. In his hurry, or ignorance, Van Layden had failed to adjust the gun’s elevation and now found he could not depress the weapon far enough to actually hit anyone who wasn’t standing right in front of him.

Everybody in the carriage dived for the floor except Polly who shoved Bridie out of the way and drew her revolver. Pointing it at Van Layden’s head she pulled the trigger. The soft heavy lead slug hit him squarely in the middle of the forehead. Van Layden fell onto his back. However, he soon picked himself up and started to heave the Maxim round to point at Polly. 

Peters crouched on the floor looking up in shock at Van Layden and the great hole in his forehead. Polly lashed out with her foot and sent the Maxim crashing into the door frame and yanking it out of Van Layden’s hands. Springing at him she knocked him onto this back again. They rolled across floor until she sat astride his chest and began to punch him in the face. The demon grabbed hold of Polly’s blouse and pulled her down towards him, a leering smile on his face. As she tried to pull away he suddenly pushed at her and using her own efforts at trying to break away against her, he hurled her against the carriage wall. In an instant he was on his feet once more while Polly lay in an untidy heap on the floor. It was at this point that Captain Scott burst into the compartment and emptied his revolver into Van Layden’s chest. The slugs hit Van Layden in the chest covering the front of his suit with blood, but, it hardly slowed him down. He rushed at Scott and tossed him with contemptuous ease the length of the carriage.

0=0=0=0

Henry frantically searched through their limited collection of magical weapons to find something that Polly could use to kill the Van Layden Demon. Normal bullets seemed to have little effect on whatever inhabited Van Layden’s body, they would need something special. Just then Lady Wyndham thrust the hilt of a dagger into his hand.

“Silver dagger!” she explained.

0=0=0=0

Climbing to her feet Polly saw Van Layden standing in the doorway looking into the carriage. Jumping up she grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around, before hitting him as hard as she could in the jaw. Her fist felt as if she had hit a block of granite. Trying to shake some feeling back into her hand she watched as Van Layden staggered backwards down the aisle to trip and fall over Captain Scott and Mrs Wyatt who was trying to help the officer up from where he lay in the aisle.

With a terrific roar Van Layden leapt to his feet, turned and charged at Polly. If he had just carried on through the door at the other end of the carriage he would no doubt have found Kishan outside and been able to kill him then and there! But the demon was angry now and was determined to kill this obstinate human female who dared to fight him. He charged full tilt at Polly who deftly stepped aside as the demon ran at her, putting her foot out she tripped the demon as he blundered by; Van Layden stumbled and fell sliding across the floor until he crashed into the rear wall of the compartment.

“POLL!!!” yelled Henry as he tossed the silver dagger to his wife.

Polly snatched the weapon out of the air and turned to face the demon again as it bounced to its feet once more. Stepping into its next attack she slashed the hellspawn across the chest with the dagger. The monster screamed in agony as it staggered away from Polly, however, the pain seemed to penetrate the demon’s mind through its battle frenzy. In a flash it appeared to realise what it was fighting and remembered what its real purpose was. It grinned evilly at Polly, turned and crashed through the rear door and started to climb up onto the roof of the coach. Determined to destroy this creature once and for all, Polly didn’t hesitate to follow.

0=0=0=0

Pushing his way into the rear compartment, Henry was just about to follow Polly up on to the roof when he felt a restraining hand on his arm.

“I’m sure your wife can deal with Mr Van Layden,” Lady Wyndham pulled him around to face her. “It’s one of the hardest lessons you have to learn Mr Carter-Browne…to know when to let your slayer deal with things by herself,” Lady Wyndham smiled then nodded in the direction of the track behind them. “Anyway I think we have problems of our own!”

Henry turned to look where Lady Wyndham had gestured. Not one hundred yards behind the train was a mass of rebel cavalry slowly catching up to them.

“Bloody hell!” exclaimed Henry, and then, “Someone help me get the Maxim working…Lady Wyndham can you see if the Sepoy’s alright?”

Lady Wyndham went over and knelt by the Sepoy who had been lying unconscious in the corner of the compartment. Peters rushed in and helped Henry drag the Maxim over to the door and set it back up on its tripod. Henry sat behind the weapon and straightened out the ammunition belt, before pulling back on the charging lever he flipped up the sights and let fly with a long burst. To his great satisfaction he saw rebel men and horses tumble to the ground as the bullets scythed into them.

“That’s better!” he yelled to Peters who fed the belt into the machine gun’s breach.

0=0=0=0

The demon turned at bay to face Polly as she scrambled up on to the roof of the carriage. As she stood and stared into the demon’s eyes she had this strange urge to say something witty or clever. Dismissing the thought she launched herself at the creature with a savage mindless scream of anger. The demon back-pedalled from this vengeful harridan that came after him with a knife made of the ‘Deadly Metal’. Once again the knife raked across his chest cutting and burning him and dragging a scream of fear and pain from his lips. He struck out at the human female catching her on the side of the head and knocking her to the floor. Moving in for the kill he was surprised to be kicked in the abdomen as the woman jumped to her feet again. Once again the female attacked with renewed strength and impossible speed. The knife sliced into his arms and legs as she used it to parry his attacks. If only he could get her to drop the knife he would be able to rip her limb from limb. Once more he lunged at her, desperation lending his attack new strength.

0=0=0=0

“DAMN!” Peters looked around desperately for more ammunition.

Henry pulled his revolver and fired into the crowd of horsemen who were now almost close enough to jump from their horses onto the train if they so wished. Wild return fire slammed into the woodwork behind him making him duck down. The Sepoy appeared in the doorway behind him and started to fire with his rifle at the cavalry that chased them along the track.

“PETERS!” Henry frantically reloaded his pistol, “Find some more bloody bullets damn it!”

“I’m looking,” Peters crawling across the floor towards a pile of boxes, “so much for the famous British reserve!” He smirked as he dragged a couple of boxes of ammunition out onto the platform.

The two men struggled to reload the Maxim, only to have to dodge a burning torch that was thrown into the carriage.

“Now they’re trying to burn us out!” complained Peters.

0=0=0=0

The demon leapt on Polly and felt as if his whole chest was a fire, he staggered back from her and looked down to see her small fist clutch the hilt of the dagger that was buried in his chest. He tried to push her away and stop the terrible burning agony in his chest. With a savage grin Polly pulled the dagger from the demons chest. The monster started to fall towards her holding out talon like hands that tried to drag her down with him.

Knocking the demons hands aside Polly slashed the beast across the throat causing blood to fountain across the roof of the coach and be caught in the wind of its passing. It stained Polly’s skirt with dark red-brown splotches. The demon crashed to the roof of the carriage, it looked up at Polly as its life force drained away, it tried to claw at Polly’s feet desperately trying to pull her down with him.

Daintily avoiding the demons last weak lunge Polly kicked the creature off the carriage roof and watched as the Van Layden Demon bounced along the track-side before coming to a halt in a ditch. It was only then that she noticed the bullets buzzing about her ears and dropped to the roof and tried to make herself as small as possible.

0=0=0=0

Henry at last managed to fit a new belt of ammunition into the Maxim’s breach. While he had been doing this Peters had loosened the gun mount to allow the weapon to be moved freely. Hauling back on the charger once more Henry let rip with a long satisfying burst of fire that cut down horses and knocked men form their saddles.

He kept the triggers pressed down as Peters fed the insatiable maw of the Maxim. He scythed the fire from side to side until even the fanatic zeal of the rebels could not take this punishment anymore. Slowly, reluctantly, the horsemen broke off their attack. Henry sent a few more bursts of fire after the horsemen until the train suddenly plunged into the dark of a tunnel.

“Oh my God!” gasped Henry looking upward, “POLLY!”

0=0=0=0

Polly held onto the roof as bullets whizzed by her head and the train swayed alarmingly from side to side. A cool calculating part of her mind wondered why she had not noticed any of this before. A panicking, terrified part of her mind told her that maybe it would be a good idea to get down from here and hide where people couldn’t shoot at her!

Still trying to keep as low as she could Polly cursed her ample bust and crawled towards the front of the carriage. Choosing her time carefully she swung herself down onto the flat-car only to be nearly shot by the Havildar. He’d been defending the area with Gupta as the rebels had thrown burning torches in amongst the coal. Up in Victoria’s cab she could see Captain Scott firing his pistol at the rebel horsemen while Mrs Wyatt picked off a few with a rifle.

The romantic part of Polly’s mind told her that the two would have to get married now. Now they had defended an engine driver’s cab from fanatic rebel horsemen they were as good as engaged. Suddenly the train plunged into the mouth of a tunnel.

“How appropriate,” giggled Polly to herself.

0=0=0=0

“I thought I’d lost you!” gasped Henry as he hugged Polly tightly.

“Takes more than a demon and a few hundred rebels to get rid of this ‘Wild Colonial Girl’,” she smiled up into his face.

They were just about to kiss when Captain Scott tapped Henry on the back.

“Well done old man!” he said brightly as he held out his hand.

“Think nothing of it,” Henry reluctantly disentangled himself from Polly and shook Scott’s hand, he noted the bandage around Scott’s head, “How’s the head?”

“Oh it’s nothing really,” Scott put his hand to his forehead; he smiled and turned to look at the assembled passengers. “You’ll no doubt be glad to hear that in ten minutes or so we’ll have crossed the Kalahar Bridge and we’ll be in Kalapur within half an hour!”

Everyone gave an exhausted cheer.

0=0=0=0

“It’s not fair!” sulked Polly as she sat in the corner of her seat, “I killed Van Layden and no one seems to remember!”

“That’s the wonder of the human mind,” replied Henry sympathetically, he sat down next to her and put an arm around her shoulder and pulling her towards him. “People only remember what they want too. I really don’t think they want to remember you shooting Van Layden in the head and him not dying!”

“You think?” Polly looked up at her husband and kissed him on the cheek, “It’s still not fair.” 

The train started to clatter across the Kalahar Bridge, Polly glanced out of the window to see a great stone and iron bridge that passed over a wide river.

“Soon be over,” Henry gave her a reassuring squeeze.

0=0=0=0

Their arrival at Kalapur Station was low key to say the least. There was no band or cheering crowds to great them, in fact it seemed like hardly anyone noticed their arrival. Captain Scott jumped down from Victoria’s cab and organised some soldiers to take Gupta to the military hospital and collect up all the military equipment from the train.

A group of native dignitary’s turned up and took Prince Kishan away. The boy solemnly thanked the Captain for saving his life and expressed the hope that he would not have to kill Scott Sahib in later years. Oddly Scott just smiled and walked off to stand next to Mrs Wyatt. Peters was taken away by a Civil Servant who was asking him about the new field gun that Peters’ firm were marketing. Peters smiled resignedly and shrugged his shoulders as he walked passed where Henry and Polly stood. 

Another harassed looking Civil Servant whisked Lady Wyndham off to a carriage; she hardly had time to wish Polly and Henry good luck before she was hurried away.

The last the Carter-Browne’s saw of Captain Scott and Mrs Wyatt they were walking along the platform arm in arm. Mrs Wyatt carried the basket with the orphaned India baby under her free arm.

“Well!” Henry and Polly stood next to the battered old engine, their few belongings at their feet, “this is a rum do!”

“Is that it?” asked Polly incredulously, “Not a word of welcome or thanks? Are we just supposed to fend for ourselves now?”

“I’m afraid so.” Henry picked up their things and led Polly to the station exit and out onto the street.

The Sepoy on duty by the station gate presented arms as the couple passed; Henry nodded his head to the soldier in recognition of the honour given.

“I’m afraid, old thing, that’s the only greeting we’re going to get!” Henry sighed and dropped their bags; he looked up and down the bustling street.

“What do we do now?” Polly held on tightly to her husbands arm; demons didn’t frighten her in the least, but towns full of people made her apprehensive.

“Well first,” Henry announced, “we book into the Kalapur Imperial Hotel. Then we have a bath, dinner and then I thought we could stay in bed until some time next week!”

“Henry!” exclaimed Polly in mock shock.

“Then I think I’ll see about leaving India.” He bent and picked up their things again and started to lead Polly along the street, “How does a trip to the ‘Occasionally United States of America’ take you? Los Angeles first I thought then maybe a trip across the Wild West…what do you think?”

“Bonza!” Smiled Polly resting her head on Henry’s arm.

THE END.


End file.
